Truth-Teller
by Ommallaredpanda
Summary: Darth Vader, as Ani Naberrie is among the Rebels. He wishes simply to be with his son; joining with a terrorist group is not the worst thing he would be prepared to do for his child. But, the Alliance have got their hands on a truth device, and its doing the rounds, checking for traitors and spies. They have known him for a year. They consider him a friend; family, even.


The thing with undercover work was that anything could blow it out of the water.

And, well, when it's not really 'undercover work' as such, and just you trying not to get brutally, and probably rightfully killed, it became even more serious than such a situation would normally be.

Essentially, if you could imagine being an operative _desperate_ not to be found, just times that by about six, and you had the unfortunate situation 'Ani Naberrie' found himself in.

He stood at the same height as a Wookie, which vaguely terrified most people, and constantly wore a sophisticated breathing tube, connected to an air filter which allowed the man and his iron lung to breathe. Each breath automated, but no longer a hissing, asthmatic death rattle, thank the Stars.

This man, this 'Ani Naberrie' had immersed himself in the Rebel Alliance for well over a year by this point. However, he had only just started to achieve what he had set out to do.

At his left, a young and remarkable boy by the name of Luke Skywalker sat, musing over their latest game of dejarik, which Ani was winning quite effortlessly. It wasn't very far removed from actual combat strategies.

"I don't get how you're doing it!" The young man eventually exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "These tactics work on everybody else."

Ani managed to snort past his breathing tube, "Yes, _everybody else_."

Luke grumbled, eyebrows twitching, but his smile giving away his pleasure to finally have an equal (better, but the boy was optimistic) at this battle of minds. With a huff of air, he sat upright, studying the table and pieces intently. "If I move this one… No, that'd get taken _but_…" He let out a long, considering hum.

"I suppose you could do that," Ani smirked, recently regrown eyebrows furrowing slightly as he spoke.

Luke glowered at him once again. "You're not making this easy, you know."

"And why would I do that, so- _superb_ way to make you all lax and lazy."

"Just because you want me battle ready doesn't mean you get to beat me _this thoroughly_ and not tell me how you're doing it!"

"Yes it does."

With another grumble, Skywalker returned to studying the pieces. "I don't understand why you're doing this," He said eventually.

"Pardon?" Ani searched the younger man's face. His Tattooinian twang became more serious, some would say even less pronounced.

"Well…" Luke swept out a hand and thoughtlessly moved one of his units, which Ani immediately, automatically reacted to, removing the piece from play. "Training me, really."

After that admission, silence descended for a bit. The holograms growled and postured, mostly ignored. If anyone had walked in on this moment, they would have taken one glance and decided to come back at another time. Something about seeing such a huge, menacing and tangibly _dangerous_ man paying such close attention to Luke; small, country bumpkin, farmer boy _Luke_, which would have had them creeping away as inconspicuously as possible.

Behind his translucent mask, Ani's mouth opened to speak, stretching his scars to the verge of pain, "I-…"

"You are obviously _good_. It's only been a year, but already most of command trusts you. Every mission you've flown has been a success. Your tactics are just… _amazing_, and you're using your time to just… _talk_ to me!" Luke didn't look angry or frightened, which was good, but he certainly looked puzzled. He sighed again, reaching onto the table to fiddle with one of the holograms, passing his still tanned fingers through it. "Not that I don't appreciate it, I just don't understand. There are so many people out there you could do this with. Most of them would _definitely _put up more of a fight at this than me," He said, gesturing to the game. "Can't be fun to win all the time…"

"It's not meant to be fun," Ani spoke softly, but there was certain steel to his voice which reminded Luke who he was talking to. If he had been paying attention, he would have detected the faintest tinge of Imperial Centre to enter Naberrie's voice. "And, to be fair, you _did_ save my life on that Star Destroyer."

"Yes! But only because you had completely wrecked it first! Every system had been sabotaged _very_ thoroughly and you would've probably made it out anyway."

"Probably not. My life support wasn't working properly. Had just… upgraded to a new system. That medical frigate stopped me asphyxiating."

"Yes… well. You'd have thought of something."

"Potentially," Ani said, eyes twinkling again. "Anyway, I do believe that we were having a nice game of dejarik. Care to continue?"

Luke huffed, "_Nice_ isn't what I'd call it, more like humiliating."

"Well then, we're lucky Leia isn't here to further your embarrassment. To be fair, she only does _marginally_ better than you." He smirked across the table. That moment, as far as Ani could tell was perfect. Sitting with Padmé's son; _their_ son. Sharing a joke over a game of dejarik.

If he had to betray Sidious a thousand times, and suffer tenfold the punishment, he would do. In those little, quiet moments, everything felt like it had been worth it, simply for that oneness and openly offered acceptance, friendship and almost _family_.

Of course, Anakin couldn't have nice things.

The damn Universe would have exploded, if he had been allowed to wallow in the niceness much longer.

Because, at that moment, Leia stalked in, Han her shadow, as always, and Han's own large, hairy, carpet-like friend followed after him.

The cramped _Falcon's_ main room became more so, as the people crowded round, few of the less-familiar Rebel grunts trailed in, too, armed and ready-ish. A couple looked moments from a cat nap.

Everyone stood in awkward silence for a few moments, shuffling about and attempting to position blasters so that no one was getting poked in the back. The grunts, four of them, Ani could see, appeared self-conscious, and one even threw him a small salute and mouthed 'sorry'.

"I apologise for this," Leia started off, forging into the uncomfortable quiet with professionalism. "But, everyone in the 'Fleet is getting the same treatment." She held out a device, large against her tiny hand. "Hold it."

As the object had dwarfed Leia's palm, Ani's gloved fist hid it almost entirely from view once he followed her order, resolved to not let on any of his hesitancy. He really didn't need whatever this was to rock the boat.

Leia crossed her arms in front of her chest. "For the record, I was against this. However, the precaution is… understandable."

They waited in silence a little longer. Someone shuffled, knocking into one of Han's multiple piles of junk, which were more likely Ani's than the ship's owner, if anyone could be bothered to think about it. Or clean the place up.

"What is your name?" Leia asked.

"Ani Naberrie," He replied immediately.

The device held in his metal fist whirred angrily for a moment, and then flashed an angry red, followed by a confused buzzing.

"**Incorrect," **It spat out, speakers vibrating. There was a lilt upwards at the end of the word, however, as if questioning its own diagnosis.

Leia raised an eyebrow.

With an eye roll, he spoke again. "Ana_kin_ Naberrie. Better?"

Again, it buzzed and whirred, and he could feel a faint electrical current making the rounds of his circuitry, scanning. Could he break it with half-truths? If so, this little machine was in for a ride.

Leia's arched brow rose, both reaching for her hairline. A sceptical look began to creep across her face. "List your names."

Everything seemed to freeze.

_Shit_.

He couldn't just refuse that, could he? Refusing would be an admission of guilt. And admission of guilt would be a death sentence. Still better than giving in, probably. Death would be better than torture. Or the look on his son's face.

_Shit shit. Fuckety shit __**shit**__!_

Something must have shown on his face, despite the lower half having a small tangle of translucent tubes and wires. Leia's disapproving eyebrows dropped back down to make a perplexed look, as if she couldn't quite believe what was happening.

The soldiers in the room had begun to look nervous. They knew that, if something were to happen, they wouldn't stand a chance. Not them, not Luke, not the entire damned _base_. The fear that was starting to sparkle in their eyes… He hadn't wanted to see it ever again.

Anakin stood from his seat. The tension doubled.

Luke, behind him, made a puzzled sound.

Han's hand crept towards his blaster, only Ani's battle-trained eyes prevented him from missing the movement.

A hundred little twitches and flickers, each one familiar to him – the movements of trained and nervous soldiers.

"List your names, Commander Naberrie." Leia's voice softened. "Please. It's a routine check and-"

Anakin laughed.

Well, with the breathing apparatus, it was barely discernible as such, but the point was made.

"I am Anakin Naberrie," He said, proud of how the words only shook slightly, metal hands curling into fists, back straightening into the imposing posture he had consciously been certain not to use. "Previously known as Anakin Skywalker."

The red light flashed again.

"**Incorrect!"** The tinny voice proclaimed.

In the silence that followed, it appeared that they were too shocked to prompt him further. Behind him, Luke let out an almost inaudible gasp. He could _hear_ the shocked smile, playing on his son's face, the light beginning to shine from his eyes. For a moment, he let this perfectness roll on.

"Most recently, I have been going by the moniker of Darth Vader."

If it had been a prank, the reactions he received would have been outstanding.

It took a few endless, stretching, eternity-long moments for his words to seep in, but within five seconds, every weapon in the room was pointed at his head. The only one missing was his son's.

"_Vader_…" Leia eventually managed to get out, almost choking on the word. "I don't believe it. You _can't _be that _monster_! You… You need constant _life support_! And you're _kind_! You look after Luke and you're a _great_ Commander and… and you _care_!"

"Yes…" Vader said. "Probably too much." His lips twitched upwards weakly.

With a look down towards the small, inconspicuous box, Leia began to speak again. "Anakin Naberrie is Darth Vader."

"**Correct."**

"Darth Vader is here to kill us."

"**Incorrect."**

"Darth Vader is here in service to the Empire."

"**Incorrect."**

She quietened once again, blaster still unwavering. Han stepped forward. "Darth Vader helped me repair the _Millennium Falcon_, and got so tired he partially severed his hand."

"**Correct."**

"He then played it off as nothing, like an idiot, and had to be sedated so he'd go to the med bay."

"**Correct."**

"Darth Vader became my friend…" This sentence, he muttered as if to himself, staring into Anakin's uncovered eyes as he did so, expression carefully neutral.

"**Correct."**

When nothing more happened, the questioned individual sat back down, still holding the machine in his hand. At his movement, all but Leia and Luke flinched backwards, fingers tightening around triggers.

Vader placed his hands carefully upon the table, in a display of peace he would usually consider beneath him. Most people didn't ever make the mistake of assuming unarmed meant helpless. However, if it would make his newfound friends and son feel more at ease, it was worth it.

"I have something which may help you feel more safe," He eventually said. "It's in my pocket. I'm going to get it out now, and I'm not going to hurt anyone."

"**Correct."** The device declared.

Each movement was followed by eight pairs of eyes, tracking him to make sure the machine hadn't somehow misread their situation.

On the inside of Vader's shirt; a loose, grey affair with a few standard pockets on the outside, was a compartment, zipped shut and reinforce with plasteel. From it, he slowly drew a messy, cylindrical object the size of his pinkie finger. Each piece looked like it came from a junk yard, but was well cared for, which was evident since the thing didn't fall apart immediately upon leaving Vader's pocket. He then held it up, allowing the light to shine on it, showing off a small set of controls implanted along the side. A dial. Two buttons. A switch.

He offered it to Leia. She took it.

"Turn the dial to 2051980." Leia looked up from the cylinder, but did as he said. She only did so, Vader thought, because the shock of his revelation hadn't worn off yet. She perhaps still thought of him as the stranger they had rescued from a burning Star Destroyer a year ago, whom had helped them as often as he could. Whom had unspeakable injuries. Whom had won countless battles for them against the Empire.

The device clicked in her petite hands, the arrow coming to rest next to the specified digit. Flickering a little, the buttons and switch lit up, barely visible. One button glowed blue, the other green, and the switch was a wavering red.

"What is this?" Leia asked, turning it over carefully.

Vader cocked his head slightly up at her, thoughtful. "A detonator."

"**Correct."**

"It is not a dangerous one, though," Vader quickly said, seeing the panic begin to settle in Leia's face.

"**Incorrect."**

"Well, it's not dangerous to you. Just me!" He glowered down at the machine. "Satisfied?"

"**Correct."**

Movement, in the corner of Vader's eye. His head whipped around, fast enough that his metal vertebrae protested. Once he saw it was only Luke standing up, he relaxed slightly, removing his hand from where it had come to rest at his belt, searching for a lightsabre which was no longer there.

Han snorted. "At least we now know that even Darth Vader gets PTSD." The room's atmosphere calmed, and Luke walked to stand beside his friends.

"The detonator," Vader said. "It's an old Tatooine slave transmitter. On this frequency, you flick the switch and click a button, I'm incapacitated or dead. The blue one will activate the explosive in my neck; the green will remove what's left of my right leg."

"**Correct."**

He was stared at, by them, his family, for far longer than was comfortable. Luke spoke up first. "You were a slave…?"

"Yes."

"But Palpatine…!"

"Did not remove the implants. He probably linked my cybernetics and life support to a similar device. I replaced them. That's why I was in a… state when you found me on the Star Destroyer."

Luke slowly shook his head, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. "But Uncle Owen said my father _escaped_ slavery…"

"When I was nine, yes."

Luke looked up to meet his father's eyes. "Doesn't sound like you're free. You're still not."

"… No."

An uncomfortable silence descended once more. Blaster muzzles were starting to lower. The soldiers' arms were growing tired from keeping their weaponry aimed. Leia glanced back at them and sighed, slotting her own gun back into its holster. She rubbed a hand over her face. "Darth Vader will not harm us, or anyone else on this base in any way."

"**Correct."**

"Holster your weapons. And…" Leia stared at Vader for a moment, and then glanced at Luke and Han, who both nodded. "You can leave. We won't need guarding. I shall inform the Council of this… _development, _so keep this quiet until there is an official announcement. Understood?"

The troops nodded, and uneasily lowered their weapons completely; one or two shook their exhausted arms, and attempted to rub the pins and needles sensation from their limbs. Then, with a few backwards glances, the four trooped from the _Millennium Falcon_.

Once they were alone, Leia sat herself down quite forcibly on the bench, across from where Vader was situated. "I have a lot of questions."

"You also have a truth machine and a free schedule this evening," Vader replied with a small, sad smile. "Ask away."

Once again, Leia looked to her friends, who, in response found a seat or, in Chewie's case, simply sat on the floor. She turned back to their resident Sith Lord.

"You're Luke's father?"

"Yes." A small jolt from the farm boy.

"Do you love him?"

"_Yes_." Another jolt, but this time, a happy one.

"Who was his mother?"

Vader froze up. His eyes widened slightly, and he turned away from Leia, looked to his son. "I… It doesn't matter."

"**Incorrect."**

Leia paused for a moment. A thought entered her mind. It was logical and awful and _disgusting_, but… This was Darth Vader. She wouldn't put him above anything, even if he had turned out to be Ani Naberrie, who had a taste for bad puns and had a _terrible_ haircut and-. "His mother… Luke, I'm sorry, but you didn't force her, did yo-?"

"_No_!" Vader didn't just look affronted or insulted, his expression changed to genocidal in the blink of an eye. "Of course not! I _loved_ Padmé. I would _never_ do that to her! Or anyone else, for that matter."

"**Correct."**

Luke stood from his chair and strode to his father, who had also bolted to his feet, had both hands on the table, face curling into a snarl. It wasn't hard to remember who he had turned out to be in that moment. He grasped Vader, fingertips not even close to touching as they attempted to encircle the older man's arm. "Father… Calm down. She had to be sure."

A single glimpse of the slight fear held within Luke's expression, and Vader's rage was gone instantly. He didn't want to expose Luke to see that side of him. Didn't want his son to be scared of him.

"I… Yes." With a conscious effort, the harsher tones of his Imperial accent mellowed out into the older, Tattooinian twang. "I apologise."

Leia twisted the cylinder in her grip again, watching Vader as he sat back down, slowly, trying his best to be unthreatening, eyes old and tired and sad. It was so _strange_, knowing this person to be _Darth Vader_; Fist of the Empire, Scourge of the Rebellion, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy.

She also knew him as Ani Naberrie; a Commander of the Rebellion, with a near flawless record, who had been first found laying waste to an entire Star Destroyer by himself, whilst barely alive from damage to vital life support systems and cybernetics (which, she realised, must have been self-inflicted) and with nothing more than a screwdriver. He had gone on countless mission with her, Luke and Han. Each time, he had been on the front line and utterly unafraid; a hero with no fear. Whenever one of them saw something awful, which stayed with them, often surfacing in nightmares, he would always help, somehow. Naberrie could brew up a mean tea, and had an ancient Tattooinian soup recipe which made wounds – mental and physical – heal twice as fast. In the beginning, he had been very odd, sure. Jumpy. Angry. Terrified, most of the time. Worse PTSD than she, or anyone else, had seen in years. Thinking back on it, it made sense.

One time, Leia could remember being in the canteen, a few weeks after they had delivered Ani back to _Home One_, and some unsuspecting Rebel had accidentally brushed against his back. His guard had been down; he'd been laughing, despite the tubes; she could remember thinking that it must've hurt, to laugh in a state like that, with your lungs all charred and half-dead. The Rebel had found himself punched in the throat, chest, and then on the floor, with practiced, metal hands starting the motion to break his neck. Ani had managed to stop, breathing hard. It had been panting, really. His eyes had been darting around, searching for a non-existent enemy. But, the Rebel hadn't died, and had been put back into active service, after a few days in bacta.

Leia twisted the cylinder, fingers ghosting over the buttons. She then turned the dial once again, clicking loudly in the quiet as it returned to pointing at 0. The lights dimmed and vanished. She set it down on the dejarik table.

"It wasn't all a lie, was it? You like bad puns, and get hyper when you eat sugar, and can't stand the sight of sand."

Vader smirked; an expression familiar to her from Naberrie's face. "No. It wasn't."

Leia nodded slowly, considering. Then she spoke.

"On behalf of the Alliance, I accept you, Darth Vader, into the Alliance to Restore the Republic. May the Force be with you."


End file.
